There's been a lot of talk lately about mothers choosing not to call their daughters pretty. I can sympathize with a lot of it, even respect it, but I cannot get behind it. Many people believe that telling a girl she's pretty discourages her from embracing science and math. I don't believe that at all. My mom has always told me I'm pretty. When I was younger I wanted to be an archeologist/anthropologist, so my mom went out and bought me books and kits so I could learn all about it. To this day I am still extremely fascinated by those things. One Christmas my mother bought me a microscope, slides included, and told me to enjoy. Being pretty never stopped me from wanting to explore different things. And my mom never told me pretty girls don't do those things, instead she took the things I was interested in and built on them. I'd read about dinosaurs and then go to dance class. I'd try on my moms heels, and then go examine slides under my microscope. Some days I'd wear dresses, and some days I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. I loved makeup at a young age, but I was also an avid swimmer and "renowned" water bug. Whatever I was into that day, week, month, my mom supported me, and still told me I was pretty.
Now I have a daughter, she's 2, and I've told her she's pretty every
single day, multiple times a day, for her whole life. If you ask her
"who's gorgeous?" she will respond with "me!" If she's trailing behind
me in a store you can often here me say, "come on pretty!" Sometimes
we're sitting on the couch and out of the blue I'll just say "you're so
pretty". Why? Because the world is an ugly place, and I want her to know
that even on the darkest of days, she is her own beacon of light. I
want to tell her she's pretty every day so that she believes it. I want
her to know that she's pretty so that when someone tells her she's not,
she doesn't even bat an eye. I want her to love herself, from head to
toe, all the days of her life. I want her to radiate self confidence so
that when the world tries to tear her down, she's never afraid to stand
up tall. I want her to look in the mirror and see nothing but beauty. I
tell my daughter she's pretty because she deserves to hear it.
You know what else I tell my daughter? I tell her she's smart, that her imagination is impressive, and that her scribbles are genius. Several times a day I find myself in awe of how smart she is. I cannot believe someone so small can know so much. And if you ask her "who's smart?" she will again respond with "me!" There is no limit to the things she can do. She can be pretty and still like to play with rocks. She can love both princesses and dinosaurs. And even though right now she's not a fan of bugs, if someday that's where her heart lies, I want her to roll with it, simply because she can. If she wants to grow up and wear a lab coat to work, I hope she does, because it doesn't make her any less pretty. Nothing will ever take away the beauty that is her. And someday when her hormones are running crazy, I don't ever want her to doubt her self worth. I want to enhance every single quality she has. I want to focus on everything that is wonderful about her, and for me that includes telling her how pretty she is. When she gets older and someone at school is being a jerk, I don't ever want their words to diminish her self worth. I don't want anyone to ever dull her sparkle. If someone tells her she isn't pretty, I want it to bounce right off of her. If someone tells her "girls shouldn't do that", I want her to prove that they can. BECAUSE SHE CAN. She can be anything and anyone she wants to be, and being pretty won't stop her.
If she comes up to me someday and says, "Mommy, am I pretty?" I'm going to hug her little body and tell her of course you are darling. You are pretty smart, pretty creative, pretty wonderful, and you also have the prettiest face I ever did see. Because all of those things are true, and I refuse to omit any of the qualities that make her who she is.
Someday, my daughter is going to change this world. And you will find me standing on the sidelines, still telling her she's pretty.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Yes, my thighs touch.
It's been so long since I've worn shorts in public, that I literally can't even remember the last time it happened. Even in 90 and 100 degree weather, I'd be wearing pants of some sort. Okay, leggings, I'd be wearing leggings. But still, never shorts, no matter what. I have cellulite, stretch marks, and my thighs touch. I didn't even want to look at myself, so I did the world a favor and spared them the agony by covering up. Sure, I'd be drenched in sweat and miserable, but no one was going blind by looking at my exposed legs. The way I saw it, people should have been thanking me.
Fast forward to now... I'm 5'9", and about 200 pounds. I still have cellulite, stretch marks, and yes my thighs still touch. But today, I wore shorts out in public. Not only did I leave my house, I went to an amusement park, where there was hundreds of people. Ready for the icing on the cake? I also walked around in my bathing suit. *gasp* I realized recently that I was covering myself up for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't because that's truly what made me happy, it was because I didn't want anyone judging me. I was so worried about what everyone else thought, that I never asked myself what I thought. Yeah, sure, sometimes I look in the mirror and hate what I see. But when I dig deeper, I really do love myself. Why should I have to cover up just because I don't look like a model? There's nothing wrong with me. I am unique and beautiful, just like everyone else. And when I leave my house, I'm not leaving my house to get noticed. I don't wake up, get dressed and say "what would the people in my hometown like me to wear?" No, I get up, find something clean (usually), get dressed, and then go about my day.
What makes my train of thought so different now versus a few years ago is my daughter. When she looks at me, all she sees is mommy. She doesn't see that my roots are grown in, I'm not wearing makeup, or that my thighs touch. She doesn't care what my clothes look like, or if I'm even matching that day. All she knows is that mommy gets dressed and takes her to the playground, or the store. When she looks at me, she knows I don't say no to a quick swim, or a walk around the block, or a ride down the slide. When she looks at me she knows that no matter what, I'll be involved for however long she wants me to be. And someday, she'll have hundreds of pictures to look back on, and I'll be in most of them. And hopefully when she's older, and struggling with her own self image, she'll remember that mommy embraced herself, and lived her life without worrying about the judgement of others.
When did it become acceptable to allow people to dictate to us how we should look? No person is the same, which means no body type is the same. You are the first and last version of yourself. Never again will there ever be anyone else like you. You were made to be a masterpiece, a first edition. You are perfectly imperfect. You are flawed, and beautiful. You have a thigh gap, or you don't. You have abs, or you don't. It doesn't matter, because you are YOU, and you is wonderful.
Every person should embrace their body, their personality, their life. You should never be afraid to wear the clothes you like. You should always do the things that make you happy, say the things that make you happy, and wear the things that make you happy. You only get one life, you need to live it. Don't hide behind fear because you read somewhere that how you look is "ugly". You're not ugly, you're you.
Yes, my thighs touch, and yes, I'm happy.
Fast forward to now... I'm 5'9", and about 200 pounds. I still have cellulite, stretch marks, and yes my thighs still touch. But today, I wore shorts out in public. Not only did I leave my house, I went to an amusement park, where there was hundreds of people. Ready for the icing on the cake? I also walked around in my bathing suit. *gasp* I realized recently that I was covering myself up for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't because that's truly what made me happy, it was because I didn't want anyone judging me. I was so worried about what everyone else thought, that I never asked myself what I thought. Yeah, sure, sometimes I look in the mirror and hate what I see. But when I dig deeper, I really do love myself. Why should I have to cover up just because I don't look like a model? There's nothing wrong with me. I am unique and beautiful, just like everyone else. And when I leave my house, I'm not leaving my house to get noticed. I don't wake up, get dressed and say "what would the people in my hometown like me to wear?" No, I get up, find something clean (usually), get dressed, and then go about my day.
What makes my train of thought so different now versus a few years ago is my daughter. When she looks at me, all she sees is mommy. She doesn't see that my roots are grown in, I'm not wearing makeup, or that my thighs touch. She doesn't care what my clothes look like, or if I'm even matching that day. All she knows is that mommy gets dressed and takes her to the playground, or the store. When she looks at me, she knows I don't say no to a quick swim, or a walk around the block, or a ride down the slide. When she looks at me she knows that no matter what, I'll be involved for however long she wants me to be. And someday, she'll have hundreds of pictures to look back on, and I'll be in most of them. And hopefully when she's older, and struggling with her own self image, she'll remember that mommy embraced herself, and lived her life without worrying about the judgement of others.
When did it become acceptable to allow people to dictate to us how we should look? No person is the same, which means no body type is the same. You are the first and last version of yourself. Never again will there ever be anyone else like you. You were made to be a masterpiece, a first edition. You are perfectly imperfect. You are flawed, and beautiful. You have a thigh gap, or you don't. You have abs, or you don't. It doesn't matter, because you are YOU, and you is wonderful.
Every person should embrace their body, their personality, their life. You should never be afraid to wear the clothes you like. You should always do the things that make you happy, say the things that make you happy, and wear the things that make you happy. You only get one life, you need to live it. Don't hide behind fear because you read somewhere that how you look is "ugly". You're not ugly, you're you.
Yes, my thighs touch, and yes, I'm happy.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
A letter to my daughter on Mother's Day.
Mother's Day is a day to celebrate all the mom's in the world. Mother's are given a day to be recognized for all they do day in and day out. Although they should be celebrated everyday, there is one specific day every year for just that, so why not bask in the glory of breakfast in bed, pampering, and a nice dinner not cooked by you? This is my 3rd Mother's Day. I haven't actually ever celebrated because my daughter is still young, and frankly I just don't see the point. But this year I decided to sit down and embrace the glory of being a mother. I wanted to celebrate the reason I even have the title of "mom". This Mother's Day, I salute my daughter.
Without you, my darling girl, I wouldn't know what it feels like to miss sleep. Without you, I wouldn't have boo-boo's to kiss, meals to cook, and messes to clean. Without you, there would be no toys to pick up, clothes to wash, or drinks to refill. Without you, I wouldn't know the feeling of complete exhaustion. Because of you, I have a reason to get up out of bed every morning, even when I don't want too. Because of you, I am able to push through every bad day, and bad mood. Because of you, even when the sky is gray, I have a little piece of sunshine with me. My days aren't quiet, my meals aren't warm, and my showers aren't long, but my heart is full, my soul is nourished, and my life is complete. Before you I didn't know what it meant to love someone so much that it actually hurt. Before you, I had no idea what I was missing in my life. You have given me happiness, strength, and patience; all things that I lacked before you. On Mother's Day I am supposed to celebrate myself, but instead all I want to do is celebrate you. Mother's Day would be just another day if I didn't have you. I made you, but you made me a mother. You've given me the greatest title in the world, and I am lucky to have it. Not every day is easy, and sometimes I want to give up, but you are always there to remind me I'm doing okay. You are always there to take my head out of the clouds, and plant my feet back on the ground. You give me the determination I need to never give up. You give me endless reasons to appreciate life, and to love with all that I have. Because of you, my bad days aren't so bad, and my good days are far beyond just good. You have taught me to love myself for exactly who I am, because who I am is just fine. You have shown me that I am capable of giving love. But most importantly, you have shown me that I am able to be loved.
This Mother's Day I am grateful not just to be a mother, but to be your mother. Thank you for trusting me with your precious life. Thank you for teaching me the real meaning of life, love, and happiness. Thank you for allowing me the freedom to be me. Thank you for being you. I promise to always be there when you call, and I promise to always love you through it all. Happy Mother's Day to my reason to celebrate such a special day. My love for you is fierce, baby girl.
Without you, my darling girl, I wouldn't know what it feels like to miss sleep. Without you, I wouldn't have boo-boo's to kiss, meals to cook, and messes to clean. Without you, there would be no toys to pick up, clothes to wash, or drinks to refill. Without you, I wouldn't know the feeling of complete exhaustion. Because of you, I have a reason to get up out of bed every morning, even when I don't want too. Because of you, I am able to push through every bad day, and bad mood. Because of you, even when the sky is gray, I have a little piece of sunshine with me. My days aren't quiet, my meals aren't warm, and my showers aren't long, but my heart is full, my soul is nourished, and my life is complete. Before you I didn't know what it meant to love someone so much that it actually hurt. Before you, I had no idea what I was missing in my life. You have given me happiness, strength, and patience; all things that I lacked before you. On Mother's Day I am supposed to celebrate myself, but instead all I want to do is celebrate you. Mother's Day would be just another day if I didn't have you. I made you, but you made me a mother. You've given me the greatest title in the world, and I am lucky to have it. Not every day is easy, and sometimes I want to give up, but you are always there to remind me I'm doing okay. You are always there to take my head out of the clouds, and plant my feet back on the ground. You give me the determination I need to never give up. You give me endless reasons to appreciate life, and to love with all that I have. Because of you, my bad days aren't so bad, and my good days are far beyond just good. You have taught me to love myself for exactly who I am, because who I am is just fine. You have shown me that I am capable of giving love. But most importantly, you have shown me that I am able to be loved.
This Mother's Day I am grateful not just to be a mother, but to be your mother. Thank you for trusting me with your precious life. Thank you for teaching me the real meaning of life, love, and happiness. Thank you for allowing me the freedom to be me. Thank you for being you. I promise to always be there when you call, and I promise to always love you through it all. Happy Mother's Day to my reason to celebrate such a special day. My love for you is fierce, baby girl.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Transformation Tuesday.
Tuesday's on social media are all about #transformationtuesday. I've participated a few times showing how different I looked 4 years ago, compared to now. I've done side by sides of how much Lily has grown in such a short time. I've even done one with me and my brother. It's fun to see how much can change in just a few short months, and years. Like 3 years ago, I had black hair, wore too much makeup, and was 20 pounds heavier. I was also incredibly miserable. I was the farthest thing from happy, and I rarely ever left my bed. Now, my hair is my natural blonde, I rarely wear makeup, and I'm happy. Transformation Tuesday doesn't always have to be about image. Sometimes the biggest changes happen within. Sometimes the biggest changes are felt, not seen.
3 years ago I was living in a nightmare. A nightmare that would eventually turn into the best thing to ever happen to me. But at the time, all I could see and feel was pain. I had no idea it was going to get even worse. And when it did, I thought there was no way things could ever get better. I was at rock bottom, and the only way to go from there was up, except "up" didn't even feel like an option. I was literally living in my own personal hell, and all I wanted to do was escape it. No matter the cost.
Now, 3 years later, I am the happiest I've ever been. I wake up everyday with a smile. I appreciate the little things. And even on a not so good day, I am thankful to be alive. My nightmare became my dream come true. It became my strength, my hope, and my happiness. I am no longer stuck in the darkness of despair. My transformation Tuesday is not just my physical appearance. It is also my soul, and the very essence of who I am. I feel like I am finally free of the hurt, and the pain. I am a new person, with a new outlook, and new goals. Everyday has a purpose it never had before. Everyday is a new chance to live, and breathe, and love.
My emotional transformation is the most important of all, because it is me, finally happy, and finally living.
3 years ago I was living in a nightmare. A nightmare that would eventually turn into the best thing to ever happen to me. But at the time, all I could see and feel was pain. I had no idea it was going to get even worse. And when it did, I thought there was no way things could ever get better. I was at rock bottom, and the only way to go from there was up, except "up" didn't even feel like an option. I was literally living in my own personal hell, and all I wanted to do was escape it. No matter the cost.
Now, 3 years later, I am the happiest I've ever been. I wake up everyday with a smile. I appreciate the little things. And even on a not so good day, I am thankful to be alive. My nightmare became my dream come true. It became my strength, my hope, and my happiness. I am no longer stuck in the darkness of despair. My transformation Tuesday is not just my physical appearance. It is also my soul, and the very essence of who I am. I feel like I am finally free of the hurt, and the pain. I am a new person, with a new outlook, and new goals. Everyday has a purpose it never had before. Everyday is a new chance to live, and breathe, and love.
My emotional transformation is the most important of all, because it is me, finally happy, and finally living.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Why I'm allowed to be angry, AND thankful.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. But you, you were a coward. It took next to no time for you decide you wanted nothing to do with me and our child. The chilling words you spoke those first few weeks will always fill me with disgust. And the silence that followed will always remind me of a black hole. I still haven't decided which was worse; the insults to our unborn daughter, or you ignoring every attempt I made to keep you involved. Those 9 months were some of the hardest I've ever had. But the overwhelming love I felt overpowered all my fear, all my bitterness, and all my rage. I was able to prepare for what I had come to think of as MY CHILD, and experience all the bliss that is pregnancy. Even though I felt alone, I knew I wasn't. The day Lily was born, and they wheeled me to recovery, you were the first person I told. I don't know why I felt that need, but I wanted to share the joy I felt with someone, with anyone, and I chose you. It didn't matter that only 2 days earlier you told me you hated me. It didn't matter that earlier that morning you told me you were happier without me. Our daughter was born, and she was a spitting image of you, and I just wanted you to know. When you showed up at the hospital, I wanted to be glad. I wanted to cherish the moment you met her, but instead I found myself boiling with resentment. You didn't deserve to meet her. You didn't deserve to know that kind of love. I regretted ever telling you she was born. Only a few weeks later I asked you when you would have contacted me to see if she was born yet, and you said "I don't know, sometime in May maybe?" She was born April 12. She would have been a month or older by the time we heard from you, by the time you met her, and I hated you for that answer. But I hated myself more because I gave you a gift you weren't worthy of. I've felt those same emotions a lot over the last 2 years.
I often wonder if I never set out for custody, where we would be. How many months would pass before we heard from you again? How much more would you have missed? You were absent for the first 9 months of her life. You missed the colic, the sleepless nights, the first smiles, the first laughs, the doctors appointments, the growing, the changing, the love. And even after our court hearing, you missed her learning to crawl, learning to walk, and her first words. Her whole life has passed by and you've been apart of none of it. There's no happy pictures of the two of you smiling. There's no pictures of the 3 of us, enjoying her presence. For 6 hours a month you are around. No more, sometimes less. Everything she knows, she knows because of me. She craves me when she wakes up, and when she wants a hug. She misses me when I go to the bathroom, or run an errand without her. She asks for me when she has a boo-boo, or when she wants a drink. I'm the only true constant she knows. But she doesn't hate you either. For those 6 hours, even if she's uncomfortable, she still plays and tries to be apart of your world. She wants to know you. She wants your acceptance, and your love. She doesn't know any better. She doesn't know the things you've said and done. She doesn't know the pain or the hurt you've caused. And I won't be the one to tell her. I want her to learn for herself. And when she does, I will still be the one she asks for. Someday she'll be curious, and I'll have all the answers she wants. I'll have the memories, the pictures, the baby books. And all you'll have is your hatred for me.
After all this time, I'm still a little angry. Not because you left me. Not because you hate me. I'm angry because you don't deserve what you have. You don't deserve to know the beauty that is our daughter. You don't deserve to feel her warm hugs, or hear her tiny voice. You don't deserve to look into her baby blue eyes. You don't deserve to tell her you love her. YOU ABANDONED HER not that long ago. You said cruel words, and lived your life like she wasn't about to be born. You denied her when she was finally here, and claimed she wasn't yours. You missed every milestone. You missed every good and bad day. You missed watching her grow. You missed being an influence. I'm angry because you don't take parenting seriously. You don't worry about allergies, teething, or germs. You're not concerned about rashes, or mean kids on the playground. You don't know what it's like to be exhausted, but still care for another person. You don't pay for diapers with pennies, and worry about how much food is left in the house. To you, everything is a trophy. You want everyone to see how great your child is, but you don't even know that yourself. You take credit for new words, new actions, and new days, but you've done nothing to get her here. I'm angry because even after everything, you still don't give me any credit. You still act like I'm a burden, like I'm a bad mother, like you hate me. You still tell everyone I am a greedy bitch, but don't mention that you actually owe money and I say nothing about it. You wouldn't hesitate to talk about how I'm abusing the system, but you fail to say that you don't help provide for anything.
I'm allowed to be angry because I've raised our daughter from a tiny baby, into a beautiful toddler. She is smart, funny, and kind. She has manners, she is caring, and she is so full of life. She wants for nothing, and knows that no matter what mommy will fix it. And you? You're just a face she sees every now and then. She points to random guys at the store and calls them dad, just because they have a beard. I'm angry, because she doesn't know what the word 'dad' really means. And she doesn't know that because you've never given it a meaning, you've just taken the credit. But even though I'm angry, I don't hate you.
You've given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Our child has given me love, happiness, and strength. I wouldn't have any of it without you. But I also know that she will change the world someday, and she'll do it without you. You won't be the one she tells all her secrets too. You won't be the one she calls when she gets her heartbroken. And you won't be the person she thanks when she's valedictorian of her graduating class. So for now, I'll bury my anger deep inside. I'll still feel it, but I won't let it show. I'll enjoy her childhood, and her life. I'll cherish every second of everyday, and make sure she always knows how much I love her. I know these days are fleeting, and the memories precious. I'll be thankful that she's mine. I'll be thankful for all the reasons she's given me to love not only myself, but my life. And I'll be thankful for you, because you paved the road that brought me to her.
I often wonder if I never set out for custody, where we would be. How many months would pass before we heard from you again? How much more would you have missed? You were absent for the first 9 months of her life. You missed the colic, the sleepless nights, the first smiles, the first laughs, the doctors appointments, the growing, the changing, the love. And even after our court hearing, you missed her learning to crawl, learning to walk, and her first words. Her whole life has passed by and you've been apart of none of it. There's no happy pictures of the two of you smiling. There's no pictures of the 3 of us, enjoying her presence. For 6 hours a month you are around. No more, sometimes less. Everything she knows, she knows because of me. She craves me when she wakes up, and when she wants a hug. She misses me when I go to the bathroom, or run an errand without her. She asks for me when she has a boo-boo, or when she wants a drink. I'm the only true constant she knows. But she doesn't hate you either. For those 6 hours, even if she's uncomfortable, she still plays and tries to be apart of your world. She wants to know you. She wants your acceptance, and your love. She doesn't know any better. She doesn't know the things you've said and done. She doesn't know the pain or the hurt you've caused. And I won't be the one to tell her. I want her to learn for herself. And when she does, I will still be the one she asks for. Someday she'll be curious, and I'll have all the answers she wants. I'll have the memories, the pictures, the baby books. And all you'll have is your hatred for me.
After all this time, I'm still a little angry. Not because you left me. Not because you hate me. I'm angry because you don't deserve what you have. You don't deserve to know the beauty that is our daughter. You don't deserve to feel her warm hugs, or hear her tiny voice. You don't deserve to look into her baby blue eyes. You don't deserve to tell her you love her. YOU ABANDONED HER not that long ago. You said cruel words, and lived your life like she wasn't about to be born. You denied her when she was finally here, and claimed she wasn't yours. You missed every milestone. You missed every good and bad day. You missed watching her grow. You missed being an influence. I'm angry because you don't take parenting seriously. You don't worry about allergies, teething, or germs. You're not concerned about rashes, or mean kids on the playground. You don't know what it's like to be exhausted, but still care for another person. You don't pay for diapers with pennies, and worry about how much food is left in the house. To you, everything is a trophy. You want everyone to see how great your child is, but you don't even know that yourself. You take credit for new words, new actions, and new days, but you've done nothing to get her here. I'm angry because even after everything, you still don't give me any credit. You still act like I'm a burden, like I'm a bad mother, like you hate me. You still tell everyone I am a greedy bitch, but don't mention that you actually owe money and I say nothing about it. You wouldn't hesitate to talk about how I'm abusing the system, but you fail to say that you don't help provide for anything.
I'm allowed to be angry because I've raised our daughter from a tiny baby, into a beautiful toddler. She is smart, funny, and kind. She has manners, she is caring, and she is so full of life. She wants for nothing, and knows that no matter what mommy will fix it. And you? You're just a face she sees every now and then. She points to random guys at the store and calls them dad, just because they have a beard. I'm angry, because she doesn't know what the word 'dad' really means. And she doesn't know that because you've never given it a meaning, you've just taken the credit. But even though I'm angry, I don't hate you.
You've given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. Our child has given me love, happiness, and strength. I wouldn't have any of it without you. But I also know that she will change the world someday, and she'll do it without you. You won't be the one she tells all her secrets too. You won't be the one she calls when she gets her heartbroken. And you won't be the person she thanks when she's valedictorian of her graduating class. So for now, I'll bury my anger deep inside. I'll still feel it, but I won't let it show. I'll enjoy her childhood, and her life. I'll cherish every second of everyday, and make sure she always knows how much I love her. I know these days are fleeting, and the memories precious. I'll be thankful that she's mine. I'll be thankful for all the reasons she's given me to love not only myself, but my life. And I'll be thankful for you, because you paved the road that brought me to her.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
It's okay if you don't always like being a mom.
I'm constantly surrounded by people telling me "you'll miss this someday", and "enjoy it while you can". So when I speak up and say, I'm counting down the hours until bedtime, I sound ungrateful that I get to be home with my child. When I say I can't take it anymore, I sound like an awful mother. But I've got a toddler who missed her nap, toys to pick up, milk to refill, crumbs to vacuum, dinner to make, and my sanity to find. It's 3pm and my kid is screaming bloody murder and I've still got at least 5 hours until bedtime. I'm running solely on adrenaline and caffeine, and it's been over 12 hours since my last real meal. So excuse me if right now I'm not "enjoying" motherhood. And I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe I'll ever miss the high pitched scream coming out of my daughters mouth, and her throwing herself on the ground in a fit of rage. I'm not ungrateful, I'm human. And I'm not a bad mother because I don't like my child all the time, all that matters is that I love her all the time. Would you like someone who never let you eat, sit down, finish a sentence, or sleep? No.
Motherhood is anything but glorious. I spent the first year of my daughters life covered in vomit and other bodily fluids. And then I've spent the second year of her life watching her freak out because WHO THE HELL KNOWS?! I can't even tell you any current events going on. If Doc isn't fixing it, Cedric isn't plotting it, and the Bubble Guppies aren't singing about it, I have no idea what you're speaking about. I can recite every line in Frozen, and I know more about Arrendele than I do about the United States. I spend my whole day questioning the validity of Doc McStuffins' degree, and thinking that the little stuffed lamb is a little bit of a hussy. I probably have poop under my fingernail, and I couldn't tell you the last time I washed my hair. My wardrobe consists of leggings and big t-shirts. My child is just going to spill milk on me later anyway, or I'm going to use my shirt to wipe a runny nose, so what's the point of wearing anything else? I never have any "me" time, and a hot meal is a delicacy. I can't enjoy every single second of motherhood because I'm too busy putting ice in a sippy cup for the 85th time today, and I really have to pee.
I'm not a horrible mother, but I've found it's normal to want to punch your kid in the face sometimes. You don't actually do it, but you think to yourself that you'd like too. I've learned it's normal to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to be pooping, just so you can have 10 minutes of silence. I'm also guilty of going into a separate room to eat, just so I don't have to share. I rarely go longer than a day without asking myself why I thought having a kid was a good idea. On the hard days, I have to be honest -- with myself, and with others. And I shouldn't be criticized for being human. I love my child. She is the best thing to ever happen to me. But sometimes she's like a tiny tornado, wreaking havoc on my day, and destroying my sanity one minute at a time. Sometimes, I really just want to hang a sign on my head that says, "stepped out to 'anywhere but here', will return after bedtime".
So, in these moments, instead of telling me that I'll miss this someday, tell me that I'm doing great, because that's what I really need to hear. And I know how quickly kids grow because the last 2 years have flown by, but I don't need to be reminded of that, I need you to tell me it's okay. Motherhood is lonely, and telling me to "enjoy every second" makes me feel like I'm the only mother who's ever wanted their kid to just go away. I am grateful, and I know how lucky I am. But only in books and movies do fairy tales exist. In real life, not everyday is easy. And just like with almost everything else in life, sometimes being a mom is stressful, and sometimes I really don't enjoy it. But a bad day, doesn't make me a bad mom. I don't always have to like being a mom to love my child. I love my daughter indefinitely. I'm no stranger to the overwhelming joy that motherhood can bring, but I'm also aware of the alienating feelings it can cause. It's normal to both love and hate being a mom. So stop telling me to "enjoy every minute", because although I'm not enjoying this very minute, it doesn't mean I'm not enjoying being a mother.
Motherhood is anything but glorious. I spent the first year of my daughters life covered in vomit and other bodily fluids. And then I've spent the second year of her life watching her freak out because WHO THE HELL KNOWS?! I can't even tell you any current events going on. If Doc isn't fixing it, Cedric isn't plotting it, and the Bubble Guppies aren't singing about it, I have no idea what you're speaking about. I can recite every line in Frozen, and I know more about Arrendele than I do about the United States. I spend my whole day questioning the validity of Doc McStuffins' degree, and thinking that the little stuffed lamb is a little bit of a hussy. I probably have poop under my fingernail, and I couldn't tell you the last time I washed my hair. My wardrobe consists of leggings and big t-shirts. My child is just going to spill milk on me later anyway, or I'm going to use my shirt to wipe a runny nose, so what's the point of wearing anything else? I never have any "me" time, and a hot meal is a delicacy. I can't enjoy every single second of motherhood because I'm too busy putting ice in a sippy cup for the 85th time today, and I really have to pee.
I'm not a horrible mother, but I've found it's normal to want to punch your kid in the face sometimes. You don't actually do it, but you think to yourself that you'd like too. I've learned it's normal to go hide in the bathroom and pretend to be pooping, just so you can have 10 minutes of silence. I'm also guilty of going into a separate room to eat, just so I don't have to share. I rarely go longer than a day without asking myself why I thought having a kid was a good idea. On the hard days, I have to be honest -- with myself, and with others. And I shouldn't be criticized for being human. I love my child. She is the best thing to ever happen to me. But sometimes she's like a tiny tornado, wreaking havoc on my day, and destroying my sanity one minute at a time. Sometimes, I really just want to hang a sign on my head that says, "stepped out to 'anywhere but here', will return after bedtime".
So, in these moments, instead of telling me that I'll miss this someday, tell me that I'm doing great, because that's what I really need to hear. And I know how quickly kids grow because the last 2 years have flown by, but I don't need to be reminded of that, I need you to tell me it's okay. Motherhood is lonely, and telling me to "enjoy every second" makes me feel like I'm the only mother who's ever wanted their kid to just go away. I am grateful, and I know how lucky I am. But only in books and movies do fairy tales exist. In real life, not everyday is easy. And just like with almost everything else in life, sometimes being a mom is stressful, and sometimes I really don't enjoy it. But a bad day, doesn't make me a bad mom. I don't always have to like being a mom to love my child. I love my daughter indefinitely. I'm no stranger to the overwhelming joy that motherhood can bring, but I'm also aware of the alienating feelings it can cause. It's normal to both love and hate being a mom. So stop telling me to "enjoy every minute", because although I'm not enjoying this very minute, it doesn't mean I'm not enjoying being a mother.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
"Of all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you."
I'm no stranger to the word love. I've seen it, heard it, felt it, lived it. When I was younger I swore I loved every boy I had a crush on. It didn't matter if he didn't notice me, I loved him. As I got older, I continued to "love" different boys. I was always so heartbroken when they didn't feel the same, and I'd listen to sad songs and worry I was going to be alone forever. I wanted to find my prince charming... at 12. The first time I ever truly loved someone was when I was 16. He was older, and had a girlfriend. But to him, I was his rock when they were fighting. We had a connection that was different than anything I had ever felt before. I really did love him. It didn't work out, and it doesn't matter why. But that was the first time I truly felt love for someone other than family. He was the first person to truly break my heart. When I look back on it now, I can't truly say I was "in love" with him though. We had a connection, and I cared about him greatly. I still do. But I wasn't in love. Not by a long shot. But 2 years later, I did fall in love for the first time. Real, raw, scary love. The kind of love that keeps you awake at night. The kind of love that changes you. I think the scariest thing about that love, was how alive and dead it made me feel. One second I felt like I was on top of the world, and the next I felt like dying. My heart was whole and broken at the same time. To most people that probably doesn't sound like being in love, but that's what it was for me. Even now after everything that's happened, I still know in my heart that I loved him. But he wasn't my prince charming. Turns out, my "prince charming" isn't really a prince anyway.
I fell in love again on Friday, April 12, 2013. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was strapped down on an operating table, a blue curtain blocking my view, my mom to my left. At 3:34pm, I heard her first cry. It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. My life changed from that moment on. I was forever indebted to that beautiful little girl. I barely even knew her, she barely even knew me, but I knew she was my forever. I've never been able to accurately describe my love for her. Words just aren't enough. But my love for her is infinite. It has no limits, no boundaries. It is everything, and it is nothing. It drives me crazy, and keeps me sane. She is my prince charming. I am happy in life as long as I have her. I know she won't be little forever, but my love only grows with her. I am content with having just her. I've never felt such a strong hold on my heart before, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am okay with it just being her and I, because she is all I need.
People think I'm crazy for this. I'm constantly being asked when I'm going to get a boyfriend, or how come I'm not dating. My friends say you're so pretty Rachel, you should find a man. No one is ever satisfied when I say "I don't want a man, I have my daughter". It's like people can't believe someone could want to be alone. No one seems to understand that I'm not really alone. I have my child. I don't just love her, I actually like her. I enjoy spending my days with her. And from sun up to sun down, she fills my day. There's no time for anything or anyone else, and I'm okay with that. Because I'm not sad, and I'm not lonely. I don't need someone else taking up my time. These days are fleeting. I want to soak up every single laugh while I still can. When she's older, and tells me she hates me, I want it to be because I grounded her, not because I wasn't giving her enough attention. And when she slams the door in my face, I want to be able to relive these days, and remember how innocent and sweet she was. I don't want to miss a single second. I don't want anyone else to come into my life and steal my time. My time with a tiny tot is limited, and I want to spend every second making memories. I don't think there's anything wrong with single parents dating. If you want to meet someone, you should. But I don't want to meet anyone. Why would I want to meet someone when my heart is already complete? There's no room for anyone else. I'm already in love. Call me crazy, but I have found the truest love I could ever hope for.
For me love is waking up every morning to a smiling face calling me mommy. Love is making breakfast for her before I've even had a chance to have my own. Love is Disney Jr. Love is playing blocks, farm, and kitchen. It's fake tea parties, and princesses. Love is being so utterly exhausted, but so completely happy. For me, love is seeing the toys scattered all over the house. It's crumbs on the floor, and dishes in the sink. It's sippy cups, and cookies. It's picking toys up off the floor, out of the sink, from under the couch, and from behind the tv. It's never having any privacy, and always sharing my food. It's sitting down only to get up 3 seconds later because her water needs ice... again. Love is reading the same book 800 times in a row. Love is hugs, and kisses, and tickles. It's tucking a tiny human into bed at night and hearing her say I love you.
Before I do anything, I always make sure that Lily is fed, clothed, and clean. She always has 2 sippy cups near by, and her shows are always on. The house is covered in toys, and stuffed animals. I go without so she doesn't have too. My whole life is consumed by her and her needs. I don't go out on weekends, and I don't worry about the latest trends. My social media is flooded with pictures of her, and the conversations we have. She is my day, and my night. There's rarely a moment to breathe that Lily isn't around, and when she's asleep, I just want to exist in silence. I don't want to fill my only alone time with someone else. Then I really wouldn't ever be alone. Yeah, company is nice, but I'm tired, and I like the quiet. And unless Doc is fixing it, Cedric is plotting it, or the Bubble Guppies are singing about it, I probably don't know what you're talking about anyway. I'm not much fun at a bar, and I like free food, but I'm so used to eating quickly that I'm sure I have manners that are repulsive. So see, there's just no time for anyone but Lily. I barely have time for myself. Maybe someday that'll change, maybe it won't. But no matter what, I'm happy with life as it stands now. I am in love with the greatest person I have ever known. My heart is so full. My life is never dull. I finally found the love I've been searching for. I found my forever. Lily is my better half, my true love, my valentine, my soul-mate, my lucky star, my everything. There's no love greater, and no bond stronger. I don't know how I could ever love anyone else.
The truth is, I can't.
I fell in love again on Friday, April 12, 2013. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was strapped down on an operating table, a blue curtain blocking my view, my mom to my left. At 3:34pm, I heard her first cry. It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. My life changed from that moment on. I was forever indebted to that beautiful little girl. I barely even knew her, she barely even knew me, but I knew she was my forever. I've never been able to accurately describe my love for her. Words just aren't enough. But my love for her is infinite. It has no limits, no boundaries. It is everything, and it is nothing. It drives me crazy, and keeps me sane. She is my prince charming. I am happy in life as long as I have her. I know she won't be little forever, but my love only grows with her. I am content with having just her. I've never felt such a strong hold on my heart before, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am okay with it just being her and I, because she is all I need.
People think I'm crazy for this. I'm constantly being asked when I'm going to get a boyfriend, or how come I'm not dating. My friends say you're so pretty Rachel, you should find a man. No one is ever satisfied when I say "I don't want a man, I have my daughter". It's like people can't believe someone could want to be alone. No one seems to understand that I'm not really alone. I have my child. I don't just love her, I actually like her. I enjoy spending my days with her. And from sun up to sun down, she fills my day. There's no time for anything or anyone else, and I'm okay with that. Because I'm not sad, and I'm not lonely. I don't need someone else taking up my time. These days are fleeting. I want to soak up every single laugh while I still can. When she's older, and tells me she hates me, I want it to be because I grounded her, not because I wasn't giving her enough attention. And when she slams the door in my face, I want to be able to relive these days, and remember how innocent and sweet she was. I don't want to miss a single second. I don't want anyone else to come into my life and steal my time. My time with a tiny tot is limited, and I want to spend every second making memories. I don't think there's anything wrong with single parents dating. If you want to meet someone, you should. But I don't want to meet anyone. Why would I want to meet someone when my heart is already complete? There's no room for anyone else. I'm already in love. Call me crazy, but I have found the truest love I could ever hope for.
For me love is waking up every morning to a smiling face calling me mommy. Love is making breakfast for her before I've even had a chance to have my own. Love is Disney Jr. Love is playing blocks, farm, and kitchen. It's fake tea parties, and princesses. Love is being so utterly exhausted, but so completely happy. For me, love is seeing the toys scattered all over the house. It's crumbs on the floor, and dishes in the sink. It's sippy cups, and cookies. It's picking toys up off the floor, out of the sink, from under the couch, and from behind the tv. It's never having any privacy, and always sharing my food. It's sitting down only to get up 3 seconds later because her water needs ice... again. Love is reading the same book 800 times in a row. Love is hugs, and kisses, and tickles. It's tucking a tiny human into bed at night and hearing her say I love you.
Before I do anything, I always make sure that Lily is fed, clothed, and clean. She always has 2 sippy cups near by, and her shows are always on. The house is covered in toys, and stuffed animals. I go without so she doesn't have too. My whole life is consumed by her and her needs. I don't go out on weekends, and I don't worry about the latest trends. My social media is flooded with pictures of her, and the conversations we have. She is my day, and my night. There's rarely a moment to breathe that Lily isn't around, and when she's asleep, I just want to exist in silence. I don't want to fill my only alone time with someone else. Then I really wouldn't ever be alone. Yeah, company is nice, but I'm tired, and I like the quiet. And unless Doc is fixing it, Cedric is plotting it, or the Bubble Guppies are singing about it, I probably don't know what you're talking about anyway. I'm not much fun at a bar, and I like free food, but I'm so used to eating quickly that I'm sure I have manners that are repulsive. So see, there's just no time for anyone but Lily. I barely have time for myself. Maybe someday that'll change, maybe it won't. But no matter what, I'm happy with life as it stands now. I am in love with the greatest person I have ever known. My heart is so full. My life is never dull. I finally found the love I've been searching for. I found my forever. Lily is my better half, my true love, my valentine, my soul-mate, my lucky star, my everything. There's no love greater, and no bond stronger. I don't know how I could ever love anyone else.
The truth is, I can't.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Surviving Motherhood.
When Lily was 2 weeks old, I found myself thinking, this isn't so bad, I can do this. Then colic set in. It was everything you imagine it to be, and worse. I was never prepared for the hellish nightmare that is colic. For hours on end Lily would scream bloody murder. If she wasn't screaming, she was grunting in her sleep. I imagine it wasn't very restful, because when she woke up, she was extremely unhappy. I researched everything I possibly could, and I tried every trick in the book. Emotionally, I was bordering on unstable. Physically, I was spent. After a conversation with her pediatrician, the search for new formula began. At 1 month, try soy. Constipated. 2 weeks later, give her juice once a day to help her go? Nope. At 2 months, Alimentum. Sure, let's try it. Let's add a little zantac in there too so she stops exorcist vomiting everywhere. I really thought Alimentum was our saving grace. Soon after starting it, Lily slept through the night. The screaming decreased, her pooping became normal, and life seemed easy. She still wasn't happy when she was awake, but I figured, one step at a time, right? For 2 months, we were golden. HAHAHA. Forget water torture, just have prisoners listen to a screaming child for hours on end. I promise it won't be long before they're spitting information at you. Colic made me question my sanity on levels I cannot accurately explain. I thought for sure I was failing as a mother because I could not soothe my child. At 4 months old, Lily stopped eating. Seriously. She would not take a bottle. She would not even let it near her mouth. She'd scream so hard for so long, she'd pass out. That shook me to my core. How does a tiny, little infant just refuse to eat? After a week, I was fed up. I wanted to know what was wrong with my baby. After a trip to the hospital, and no answers, I called and left a message for her GI doctor. He called me back almost immediately, and changed her antacid to Prilosec, and told me he'd see me in 2 weeks to talk progress. At that 2 week mark, we still weren't eating. I was feeding her rice cereal from a spoon just to get some food in her stomach. She'd drink an ounce out of a bottle, go into hysterics, and throw it all up. Her GI doctor was stunned because Lily was a chubby little baby. But at that appointment, he introduced us to Elecare. Elecare saved my sanity. It saved Lily's belly. It brought some normalcy to our everyday. It took 2 months to finally work, but after it did? Life was better. Lily still threw up constantly, but she was happy. If you've kept up, that means I survived 7 months of colic.
I really sometimes feel like those first 7 months were a blur. I can still remember her milestones, but they're clouded by my memories of how overwhelmed I was. I didn't hate my child, but I did hate being a mom. I hated it because I couldn't figure out how to soothe my child. What kind of mother could I possibly be if I can't even soothe my child? How could I sit here and love this little human so much, but hate the responsibility of being her mother? I just wanted a break. Okay, maybe I wanted more than a break. I wanted to run away. Constantly. It wasn't PPD, but it was heartbreaking. I cannot put into words the love I have and have always had for my little girl. I have always felt connected to HER. But it took a long time to feel connected to the word "mother". I was failing miserably, and I hated myself for it. I hated that I had no help, and that I could never escape. I hated that those first 7 months were filled with nothing but tears, from both of us. I could change a diaper with my eyes closed, but listen to a child scream endlessly? Forget it. I wanted to leave my life, and start over. I figured Lily was better off without me. When things finally got better, I realized it was okay to feel the way I felt. That it is human to feel overwhelmed when you're a mother. And it was around then that I also realized just how amazing my bond with Lily really was. Because I spent all that time holding her, singing to her, rocking her, we formed this incredible connection. She had absolutely zero doubts in me. She knew I would do whatever I needed to do for her. You could see it in her eyes just how much she loved me. Only then did I realize I didn't hate being a mother, I hated watching my baby suffer. I hated that I couldn't take the pain away. And honestly, I hated being so exhausted.
I feel like the next 5 months flew by. Lily learned to crawl, got her first teeth, pulled herself to standing, she was constantly blabbering, she learned her first real words, she was eating solids regularly, drinking bottles, sleeping, laughing. I finally felt like this is what being a mom was all about. Cherishing the accomplishments, making memories, having fun. By the time her first birthday came around, I truly couldn't believe we made it. How many times had I wanted to run away? How many times did I say I'm done? How many times did I cry for hours because I was so emotionally and physically exhausted? But yet, there we were. 1 whole year behind us. By that first year mark, Lily had begun the transition to dairy, and was off her antacid, and it went amazingly. I finally had a happy, pain free baby girl. She was finally living the life she deserved, smiles and all. We had survived. Her first birthday wasn't just a huge milestone for her, but for me too. It was a celebration for the both of us.
Now, we've almost survived another year together. In just 17 days, my sweet baby will be 2. I wouldn't say it was easier. This last year came with it's own set of challenges. And I definitely wanted to run away more than once. But it's also had it's share of incredible memories. Lily learned to walk, run, and talk. Approaching 2, it was very rare to hear a babble. She speaks in sentences, and knows everything. If she doesn't know something, she's eager to learn about it. She's got an amazing personality. She's funny, sweet, loving, endearing, and emotional. But Lord knows I could kill her sometimes. I often wonder if my neighbors think I'm a terrible mother when they hear me screaming, "LILY I SAID DO NOT TOUCH THAT" 800 times in a row. I wonder if they think I'm skinning her alive when she screams that high pitched scream for 10 minutes. And when I leave the room and go downstairs just to find some silence, I ask myself why I ever thought I could be a mother.
But through it all, that big, BIG love is always there. That fierce, limitless love. The kind of love that drives me crazy, and keeps me sane. My love for my little girl is unwavering. It asks the hard questions, and it puts up a good fight. And even on our worst days, I am reminded constantly just how loved I am in return.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Co-parenting, with a twist.
When I was growing up, my father wasn't really around. I don't have daddy issues over it though, because I never liked my father to begin with. I didn't lose anything by him not being in my life. My mom is the greatest lady alive, and she's given me everything I could ever dream of. However, I used to always say I didn't want children until I was in a stable, loving relationship. I wanted the white picket fence, the doting husband, a big yard for our dog to play in. I didn't want to raise a child without a father. I think it was more because I saw how much my mother struggled. My brother and I were never affected by my fathers absence, but my mom gave up her entire life for us. I didn't want that for my family. Oh how young and naive I was. Obviously life had other plans for me, and for my daughter. No doting husband, no white picket fence, no dog. I did however get the big backyard (thanks mom!). But now I'm living a life I never imagined.
Co-parenting. *cue horror movie music*
For the rest of my life I have to participate in the act of "co-parenting". I could sit here and argue that we don't actually co-parent. That I am the main caregiver. That I am the one who takes care of Lily, and all her needs. I lose sleep, kiss boo-boo's, clean messes, cuddle, wipe boogies, cook 8 different meals until she eats one, etc. But for 6 hours a month, I co-parent. Outside of that time, my daughter's father and I don't communicate. We aren't friends. In fact, one might say he hates me. They'd probably be right. Now, don't let me fool you into thinking the feeling isn't mutual. It partially is. Hate is a really strong word, and it's one I don't use. BUT, I am not his biggest fan. Not in the slightest. So what's it like to co-parent with someone who hates you? Dreadful. What's it like to co-parent with someone you aren't fond of? Awful. Think of the thing you hate the most in the world. I don't care if it's a vegetable, tv show, or person. It just has to be what you hate most. Now imagine you have to deal with that person/place/thing for the rest of your life. It's like a horror movie, with no ending. Now let's add the twist to it... You have to pretend you don't hate that person/place/thing. WHAT? WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT? That, my friends, is co-parenting.
I've searched far and wide for survival tips. They have self defense classes, swimming lessons, yoga, karate, pepper spray, guns, but nothing on how to survive co-parenting. Doesn't anyone take the danger in it seriously? Why isn't there a magical wand I can wave when shit hits the fan that causes Lily's father to be plagued with diarrhea or something. No one ever warned me how hard it would be. There was no class I could take, no book I could read. Some days it's so hard, I fear I won't survive it. But then I realized, so many people before me have done it and lived through it. Thousands and thousands of people do it every single day. How do they all survive it? How do I survive it? I have your answer. Here's my 5 steps to surviving co-parenting:
1) Ear plugs. They don't have to literally be ear plugs either. For me, I start singing, in my head. The only thing I can hear is the sweet, sweet sound of my angelic voice. Oh I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you because your voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I've blocked you out.
2) The internet. When it doubt, google something funny. Or you could google something horrible and sing praises that your life isn't that bad. Whatever your poison is, I won't judge. I know what you're living through.
3) Lots of your favorite food. For some it's chocolate, for me, it's cereal. Cereal is my guilty pleasure. Give me all the Lucky Charms, and sugar filled milk, and let me drown in my sorrows. I'll regret the extra 10 pounds later, but for now, my only regret is that no one has invented time travel yet.
4) Trashy tv. Because what else are you supposed to do while stuffing your face with calories and regret?
5) Alcohol. Remember in college when you got drunk and kissed that kid you didn't actually like? Yeah, well now you've had a child with that kid, and you have to raise that child, TOGETHER. Go ahead and chug that wine sister.
There you have it. My survival guide. It's half assed like most of my decisions in life, but it's worked for me. And at the end of the day, before you pass out from too much junk food and wine, remember that things aren't that bad, because you did get a beautiful child from it all.
Co-parenting. *cue horror movie music*
For the rest of my life I have to participate in the act of "co-parenting". I could sit here and argue that we don't actually co-parent. That I am the main caregiver. That I am the one who takes care of Lily, and all her needs. I lose sleep, kiss boo-boo's, clean messes, cuddle, wipe boogies, cook 8 different meals until she eats one, etc. But for 6 hours a month, I co-parent. Outside of that time, my daughter's father and I don't communicate. We aren't friends. In fact, one might say he hates me. They'd probably be right. Now, don't let me fool you into thinking the feeling isn't mutual. It partially is. Hate is a really strong word, and it's one I don't use. BUT, I am not his biggest fan. Not in the slightest. So what's it like to co-parent with someone who hates you? Dreadful. What's it like to co-parent with someone you aren't fond of? Awful. Think of the thing you hate the most in the world. I don't care if it's a vegetable, tv show, or person. It just has to be what you hate most. Now imagine you have to deal with that person/place/thing for the rest of your life. It's like a horror movie, with no ending. Now let's add the twist to it... You have to pretend you don't hate that person/place/thing. WHAT? WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT? That, my friends, is co-parenting.
I've searched far and wide for survival tips. They have self defense classes, swimming lessons, yoga, karate, pepper spray, guns, but nothing on how to survive co-parenting. Doesn't anyone take the danger in it seriously? Why isn't there a magical wand I can wave when shit hits the fan that causes Lily's father to be plagued with diarrhea or something. No one ever warned me how hard it would be. There was no class I could take, no book I could read. Some days it's so hard, I fear I won't survive it. But then I realized, so many people before me have done it and lived through it. Thousands and thousands of people do it every single day. How do they all survive it? How do I survive it? I have your answer. Here's my 5 steps to surviving co-parenting:
1) Ear plugs. They don't have to literally be ear plugs either. For me, I start singing, in my head. The only thing I can hear is the sweet, sweet sound of my angelic voice. Oh I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you because your voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I've blocked you out.
2) The internet. When it doubt, google something funny. Or you could google something horrible and sing praises that your life isn't that bad. Whatever your poison is, I won't judge. I know what you're living through.
3) Lots of your favorite food. For some it's chocolate, for me, it's cereal. Cereal is my guilty pleasure. Give me all the Lucky Charms, and sugar filled milk, and let me drown in my sorrows. I'll regret the extra 10 pounds later, but for now, my only regret is that no one has invented time travel yet.
4) Trashy tv. Because what else are you supposed to do while stuffing your face with calories and regret?
5) Alcohol. Remember in college when you got drunk and kissed that kid you didn't actually like? Yeah, well now you've had a child with that kid, and you have to raise that child, TOGETHER. Go ahead and chug that wine sister.
There you have it. My survival guide. It's half assed like most of my decisions in life, but it's worked for me. And at the end of the day, before you pass out from too much junk food and wine, remember that things aren't that bad, because you did get a beautiful child from it all.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Living past the stigma.
When you introduce yourself to someone, what do you say? If you're like most people, it's probably something like, "Hi, I'm ____, it's nice to meet you." They probably respond with their name, and the conversation moves on. Well here, I have an ice breaker for you... "Hi, I'm Rachel, and I have bipolar disorder, severe anxiety, and OCD." Could you imagine if we all introduced ourselves by including the demons we struggle with? When you meet me you probably have no idea that in the time it took you to introduce yourself, I've already envisioned at least 10 worst case scenarios. My anxiety is at an all time high because I'm not in the safe surroundings of my house. My mind keeps telling me my hands are dirty and I need to go and wash them. But of course, I can't just simply say, 'excuse me for a minute, I need to go wash my hands'. It seems harmless enough to say it, but what if in the span of 30 minutes, I said it 10 times? 20?
The problem with mental illness is people are suffering silently. There's almost no visible symptoms. If you looked closely enough at me, you'd notice the skin around my nails is picked raw. But other than that, I look relatively normal. I'm 5'9", about 200 pounds. I wear normal clothing, and I look presentable. You would never know that I've wanted to die for half of my life. That during my teenage years I slept 18-20 hours out of the day. Today, I'm a mother. You will always spot me caring for a tiny tot. Playing, and laughing. You wouldn't know that behind that laughter, I'm thinking of the worst things that could happen at any given moment. Maybe to another parent I look a little like a helicopter parent. It's because in a way, I am. I don't live in the world of "it won't happen to us", I live in the world of it will probably happen to us. When my daughter decides she wants to run into the river, or play in the dirt, I'm panicking because I'm thinking about diseases and germs, and life and death situations that only happen to like 1% of people. When we're home and she's playing with her toys, and dumps the bins all over the floor, there's a voice in my head that tells me I need to clean it up immediately. Never mind that she's playing, I don't think rationally, all I see is clutter. Clutter makes me nervous. As I sit here and type this, I noticed crumbs on the carpet. To me, those crumbs will be the downfall of my day if I don't get up and vacuum them right now.
If I willingly went up to other people and told them my struggles, I bet they'd wonder about my child's welfare. But the truth is, being a mother is the only thing that keeps me relatively sane. It gives me the chance to put my entire life into something other than the storm inside my head. It gives me a reason to get up out of bed every single day. My daughter relies on me getting out of bed, and I cannot fail her. There used to be a time where I'd lay in bed for days at a time. I didn't care about eating, hygiene, or anything else. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. And no one relied on me, so I didn't move. But now, even on the days I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep, I know that I can't. Being a mother hasn't cured me of the chaos, but it's given me the strength to fight back. I still suffer throughout the day. Anxiety isn't rational, and I can't just turn it off. In the span of an entire day, I've probably thought about every horrible scenario you can think of at least once. I don't sleep, because I'm too nervous. Would you know any of this just by looking at me?
No.
I'm willing to bet you wouldn't go up to somebody with cancer and say, "just get over it". You would be considered an awful human being. They'd probably write news articles about you. So why do we do that with mental illness? It's just as deadly. In ages 15-24, suicide is the third leading cause of death. For 25-35, it is the second leading cause of death. 30,000 Americans commit suicide each year. On average, one person commits suicide every 16.2 minutes. These are real numbers. So, again, why isn't this taken seriously? There is such a disgusting stigma behind the reality of mental illness. It's talked about as if we're just a bunch of "crazy" people. Or it's talked about like everyone with a mental illness is a psychopath. If you are mentally ill, you are shunned. If you Google depression, and looked at images, I'm sure you'd see thousands of pictures of people crying, or with their heads down. That is not the reality. Yes, when you're depressed, you are sad. But I could go back to the days I wanted to kill myself, and find pictures of me smiling with friends. Why? Because I was ashamed of what people would say if they knew.
Now, at 24 years old, I am a mother, I am happy, and I am still living with my mental illness. But I'm not silent. Because I want people to know that there is hope. If I can give one person the strength they need to believe in a better day, than I've done something right. By many standards, I'm a failure. I still live at home. I don't work. But what would you say if I told you 3 weeks before I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to die? It wasn't that long ago I was laying in my bed, telling myself that dying was my best option. But now, almost 3 years later, I've never been happier. I still suffer from anxiety/OCD daily, but I cherish my life. With medication, therapy, and my daughter, I am able to live with the storm in my mind. The constant chaos that is my thoughts. I never thought there would be a day that I would say I am genuinely happy. I always thought I was better off just dead. Oh what a fool I was.
Even when the clouds are grey, even when there's no hope left in your heart, and your soul is dying, HOLD ON. Believe in a better day. Believe that you are wonderful. Believe that the world is a better place because you are in it. Find strength in the smallest things. Drown yourself in something that makes you happy. (For me, it's books. There's nothing like wandering through someone elses life so you can forget yours for awhile!) I promise that there is a light at the end of that bleak, mind-numbing tunnel. I can't tell you when you'll reach it, but I can promise that you will. I am living, breathing proof of that. I am living proof that mental illness is real, but it doesn't mean you're crazy. You can function, live, laugh, and love.
End the stigma. It's time to shine some light onto the darkest of topics. It's time to let everyone suffering know that they are normal. That they can fight their battles. That they can conquer anything.
The problem with mental illness is people are suffering silently. There's almost no visible symptoms. If you looked closely enough at me, you'd notice the skin around my nails is picked raw. But other than that, I look relatively normal. I'm 5'9", about 200 pounds. I wear normal clothing, and I look presentable. You would never know that I've wanted to die for half of my life. That during my teenage years I slept 18-20 hours out of the day. Today, I'm a mother. You will always spot me caring for a tiny tot. Playing, and laughing. You wouldn't know that behind that laughter, I'm thinking of the worst things that could happen at any given moment. Maybe to another parent I look a little like a helicopter parent. It's because in a way, I am. I don't live in the world of "it won't happen to us", I live in the world of it will probably happen to us. When my daughter decides she wants to run into the river, or play in the dirt, I'm panicking because I'm thinking about diseases and germs, and life and death situations that only happen to like 1% of people. When we're home and she's playing with her toys, and dumps the bins all over the floor, there's a voice in my head that tells me I need to clean it up immediately. Never mind that she's playing, I don't think rationally, all I see is clutter. Clutter makes me nervous. As I sit here and type this, I noticed crumbs on the carpet. To me, those crumbs will be the downfall of my day if I don't get up and vacuum them right now.
If I willingly went up to other people and told them my struggles, I bet they'd wonder about my child's welfare. But the truth is, being a mother is the only thing that keeps me relatively sane. It gives me the chance to put my entire life into something other than the storm inside my head. It gives me a reason to get up out of bed every single day. My daughter relies on me getting out of bed, and I cannot fail her. There used to be a time where I'd lay in bed for days at a time. I didn't care about eating, hygiene, or anything else. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. And no one relied on me, so I didn't move. But now, even on the days I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep, I know that I can't. Being a mother hasn't cured me of the chaos, but it's given me the strength to fight back. I still suffer throughout the day. Anxiety isn't rational, and I can't just turn it off. In the span of an entire day, I've probably thought about every horrible scenario you can think of at least once. I don't sleep, because I'm too nervous. Would you know any of this just by looking at me?
No.
I'm willing to bet you wouldn't go up to somebody with cancer and say, "just get over it". You would be considered an awful human being. They'd probably write news articles about you. So why do we do that with mental illness? It's just as deadly. In ages 15-24, suicide is the third leading cause of death. For 25-35, it is the second leading cause of death. 30,000 Americans commit suicide each year. On average, one person commits suicide every 16.2 minutes. These are real numbers. So, again, why isn't this taken seriously? There is such a disgusting stigma behind the reality of mental illness. It's talked about as if we're just a bunch of "crazy" people. Or it's talked about like everyone with a mental illness is a psychopath. If you are mentally ill, you are shunned. If you Google depression, and looked at images, I'm sure you'd see thousands of pictures of people crying, or with their heads down. That is not the reality. Yes, when you're depressed, you are sad. But I could go back to the days I wanted to kill myself, and find pictures of me smiling with friends. Why? Because I was ashamed of what people would say if they knew.
Now, at 24 years old, I am a mother, I am happy, and I am still living with my mental illness. But I'm not silent. Because I want people to know that there is hope. If I can give one person the strength they need to believe in a better day, than I've done something right. By many standards, I'm a failure. I still live at home. I don't work. But what would you say if I told you 3 weeks before I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to die? It wasn't that long ago I was laying in my bed, telling myself that dying was my best option. But now, almost 3 years later, I've never been happier. I still suffer from anxiety/OCD daily, but I cherish my life. With medication, therapy, and my daughter, I am able to live with the storm in my mind. The constant chaos that is my thoughts. I never thought there would be a day that I would say I am genuinely happy. I always thought I was better off just dead. Oh what a fool I was.
Even when the clouds are grey, even when there's no hope left in your heart, and your soul is dying, HOLD ON. Believe in a better day. Believe that you are wonderful. Believe that the world is a better place because you are in it. Find strength in the smallest things. Drown yourself in something that makes you happy. (For me, it's books. There's nothing like wandering through someone elses life so you can forget yours for awhile!) I promise that there is a light at the end of that bleak, mind-numbing tunnel. I can't tell you when you'll reach it, but I can promise that you will. I am living, breathing proof of that. I am living proof that mental illness is real, but it doesn't mean you're crazy. You can function, live, laugh, and love.
End the stigma. It's time to shine some light onto the darkest of topics. It's time to let everyone suffering know that they are normal. That they can fight their battles. That they can conquer anything.
Friday, March 20, 2015
March 20, 2010.
March 20, 2010.
5 years ago, I had an abortion. I was 19, and I hadn't spoken to my boyfriend in 5 days. I didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with. But I knew I was pregnant. When I finally got a hold of him, and told him the news, he hung up the phone. I was unable to reach him again.In the waiting area, there sat 3 other women. It was quiet, and it was cold. On the table there was a book. I opened it and saw letters from hundreds of women to the baby they were terminating. I wrote my baby a letter. I'm sorry. During the procedure, the nurse held my hand. And even though I had my i-pod on, I asked her to walk me through it, so I would know when it was over. I cried silent tears, and wished to die. On the way home, my mother had to pull over on I-95 so I could throw up. When I got home, I spent the rest of the day in bed. I slept, I grieved. In the span of 15 days, I lost the person I loved, and a child. I was empty.
It's been 5 years since I sat in that cold, sterile room. It's been 5 years since I lost a part of myself. It's been 5 years since I gave up on my faith. Where am I now? One word. HERE. The last 5 years have been everything, except happy. I was living a lie. A lie that I truly believed. I was lost before I had my abortion, but after it, I was gone. I fell in love with the wrong guy. And even after the abortion, after the things he said, after the way he acted, I still greeted him with open arms. For another 2 1/2 years, I gave myself to him in every single way. I don't regret it though. I don't regret the emotional turmoil he caused. I don't regret the way he stole my joy, or took the light right out of my eyes. I don't regret loving him. In fact, I'd do it all over again. I'd do it a million times over...
Why? Because today, I am the mother of a beautiful (almost) 2 year old baby girl. She is everything that's good in this world. Before her, I was barely living. I had a heartbeat, and a pulse, but I wasn't alive. Lily brought me to life. Lily has given me purpose. Lily has saved my life. Lily is everything. I am happier than I've been in a really long time. I still struggle daily with anxiety/OCD. But I'm not sad, never sad. I live everyday with the love of my life, and I cherish every breath I breathe. 5 years ago I didn't know this was God's plan for me.
5 years ago I sat in a plain room and made a life changing decision. A decision that would not only alter how I viewed myself, but how I viewed my faith. 5 years ago I was alone, scared, confused, and hurt. I thought to myself, 'this is rock bottom', while I cried into a strangers arms. I hated God for putting that choice in His plans for me. I felt betrayed by everyone I cared about. And I hated myself more than ever. If I could go back to that sad, 19 year old version of me, I'd love to tell her that she's stronger than she thinks. I'd want her to know it gets better. I'd want to tell her that she'd experience a lot more heartache, but she'd come out of it loving herself in every way. 5 years ago seems like a lifetime now. 5 years ago I never imagined I'd be where I am now. By many standards, I've accomplished nothing in that time. But I know how far I've come. I'm glad I held on. I'm glad I survived. I'm happy to be where I am now.
"Promise me you'll think of me every time you look up in the sky and see a star." <3
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